So Silver, it Shines
by Kitalyni
Summary: She always hated him. He always hated her. But when he saw her at her weakest, things began to change. And when he developed an interest, she didn't know what to think. Rated M for language and SEXUAL content stay away if you're under 16, people.
1. Chapter 1 An Unfriendly Encounter

_Worthless, filthy mudblood._

His words echoed in her ears.

Hermione clutched the silk, mint-green bag to her chest. She shut her eyes tightly in a feeble attempt to slow her rapidly-beating heart, but her efforts were fruitless. '_This is pointless,' _she told herself pessimistically. _'He's just going to get cross with me.' _That, of course, was undeniable. There was no way around it; it would happen inevitably… so why did she even bother?

Hermione wasn't entirely sure what had possessed or goaded her into going to visit **Malfoy** in the hospital wing - stinking, vile Malfoy - but now, she seemed to be doing it anyway, as if her feet had suddenly taken control instead of her brain. All during the walk down to the wing, she had told herself how utterly useless the trip was. He would never be friendly to her - never; no way; not possible. So why was _she_ bothering to be friendly with_ him?_ It didn't make any sense, if you actually thought about it.

Well, Hermione had grown up quite a bit in the past few years - she was no longer the obstinate little girl she had once been. She was wise beyond her years, and caring - extremely caring - to those that she didn't even deem worthy of her time.

Hermione remembered her mother's words well: "Always try to be nice to everyone, even those who don't deserve it, because the meaner you are to them, they will throw it back at you and deserve your kindness less." True, the words didn't sound pretty or have any pleasant ring to them, but they were wise, and when her fifth year had started, Hermione followed them like a ritual. However, even though she tried as hard as she could to follow them precisely down to the very last letter, she found herself hesitating when it came to Draco Malfoy. Him and his little group of cronies were the most vile and mean creatures she had ever laid eyes upon. And as Malfoy was the leader, he was, naturally, the meanest of all of them.

She shut her eyes again, and then hesitantly opened them, lifting her gaze to reach the number on the brown door in front of her. There was a gold-colored "3" that was placed just above her full height against the door, and she knew well what it signified - Draco was in there. She had asked Madame Pomfrey what his room was, and that was what she had answered: 3. He had a private room for some reason, instead of the public one with many beds in one place. Hermione guessed it was because he was too proud to be seen by others when he was hurt.

He had gotten hurt during a quidditch game between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. He, the Slytherin Seeker, and Harry, the seeker for Gryffindor, had been chasing after the golden snitch when it made a sharp turn. Harry turned as well -- but Malfoy didn't. He flew straight into the boards at the side of the field, promptly knocking himself out.

Taking an extremely deep, long breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, she attempted to cleanse her wandering thoughts. _'I don't have to stay long… Just go in, wish him well, and leave. Go in, wish him well, and leave. That's all I have to do…' _ She took another deep breath. Why was she doing this? She _hated_ Malfoy! And, of course, he was all too eager to return her loathing. Their meetings were never amicable; at least TWO insults always passed between them before one left (the one leaving was usually Hermione).

She knocked on the door. As soon as she did it, she cringed, wishing that she had never done the action in the first place. She wished she could just run back to the Gryffindor common room, talk with Ron and Harry, and forget that she was ever down here. But the hard thing was, she had passed the point of no return.

"Who is it?" Malfoy called. His voice was muffled by the closed door of course, but Hermione heard that his voice was slightly less spiteful and aggravated when he didn't know who he was talking to.

"Um... Um…" She said quietly, fumbling with her words. She could sense that Malfoy was waiting impatiently inside, so she finally spoke loud enough for him to hear "It's Hermione!"

As soon as the words emanated from her mouth, she wished she hadn't said anything. But she was past the _second_ point of no return now. Draco said nothing. She assumed he was probably angry with her for wasting his time, so she tried to calm herself. _Deep, cleansing breaths, Hermione… Just deep, cleansing breaths.' _

Slowly, drawing her own tension out to a fine thread, she opened the door. She opened it only a little at first, glancing inside the room through the crack in the door only to find that Malfoy was glaring at her. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip desperately, then stepped inside the room, closing the door behind her.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged.

"Granger," he said back, imitating her tone. "May I ask what the hell you're doing here?"

"Well," she answered quietly, staring at the floor between her feet underneath her. "I just…" she stammered, rewarded by Malfoy with a raised brow that clearly said 'Get to the point.' She inhaled through her nose, then collected her composure and stood up straight. "I came to ask if you were alright," she finally said.

"If I was alright? You and the weasel were cheering when it happened!"

"RON was cheering, not me." Hermione corrected. Draco scoffed.

"Whatever. Since when do you care if I'm alright?"

"Since you stupidly ran into the boards during the quidditch game."

He snorted.

"I'm still a better flier than Potty," he said snottily, sneering in that despicable Malfoy way.

"_As I recall,_" Hermione said through gritted teeth, "Harry was the one who made the turn. Harry was the one who won the game."

Draco said no more on the subject.

"Why are you here?" He asked quizzically, but irritably.

"I just told you; to check on whether you were alright or not."

"That's not why you're here. You're a dirty liar. You probably came to insult me."

"Look…" Hermione said impatiently, drawing a still-wrapped chocolate frog out of the silk green bag she held. "Do you want these or not?"

"No," he sneered, "Not now that your filthy mudblood hands have touched them."

Hermione had enough. She raged, lips pursed and pressing into eachother, teeth gritted angrily. There was that _word_ again. That vile, disgusting word. "You arrogant bastard!" She seethed, though trying to calm herself the whole time.

He had done it again. No matter what she tried to do, no matter what attitude she took with him - nice or mean, he always used that word. She had almost given up, but this was her final try. _'Well, no more'_ she thought bitterly.

"How DARE you! I tried to be NICE to you and you use that filthy word on me!"

"It's not the word that's filthy," he quipped, only to find a green bag full of chocolate frogs thrown directly at his face.

"I hope you enjoy them, you stupid, horrendous boy!" Hermione shouted before turning sharply on her foot, walking out, and slamming the door.

'_Temper, temper...'_ Draco thought to himself, smirking as he glanced down at the chocolate frogs in his lap. Granger always had a bit of a temper, and he knew that the word "mudblood" only made it worse… Still, she was a Gryffindor, so he was practically required to be mean to her -- especially since it was the first time he saw her up close that year.

On the topic of seeing her, he had noticed something different about her: a new-found beauty, if you will. _'Not that Granger's beautiful, or anything…'_ he thought bitterly. _'She's still ugly as sin.'_ He noticed she had grown slightly taller, and her chocolate eyes had deepened some. In the past year, she had lost all the frizziness in her wild hair, and had tamed them to soft yet dramatic waves. Her skin was perfectly clear, and she stood straighter and was more alert. He also found that she had… er… _developed_ quite a bit since last year; her high, prominent breasts showing well through her robes. He thought for a moment that she had become strangely attractive, but promptly dismissed that thought as false and returned to thinking how horrendously terrible-looking she really was.

'_Oh well. At least I got food out of it.'_ He grinned to himself, just before picking up a chocolate frog and unwrapping it.

"Why does he have to be so _mean_?" Hermione bellowed, storming into the Gryffindor common room. Harry and Ron were eating from a veritable mountain of sweets, and Ron looked at her. "We told you he'd be an ass about it," he said, though his voice was muffled and his words jumbled by the chocolate that remained in his mouth. Harry politely swallowed before turning to Hermione, and he pursed his lips before speaking. "It's alright, Hermione. We'll get him back. What did he say, anyway?" He picked up a bag of every flavor beans and offered it to her, but she shook her head.

"He just used that stupid word again."

"Ahh," said Ron, "Mudbl--" He was cut off by a glare from Hermione.

Harry sighed, though he sounded enraged. "That bastard! I'll get him back for you, Hermione! Believe me, I will!" Hermione sighed, also.

"That's not necessary, Harry," she said solemnly. "He'll never learn."

_Well, that's it. I know they got off to a rocky start, but things will improve later… This is my first fan-fiction EVER, so please go easy on me. XP Soon there will be more mature content, i.e swearing, sexual scenes (but NOT sexual intercourse… I'm pretty young here, people, give me a break!), maybe some violence.. stay away if you're under 14-15, or you feel you can't handle sexual situations!_

_Anyway, please, **please** review… and remember, I love you all. 3_

_ 3_

_-Sherri_


	2. Chapter 2: Classes

"Today," Snape said through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with poison, "We will be brewing what is called a Polyjuice potion. It is on page 93 of your text books." He waited impatiently for the words to sink in to his apparently dim-witted students' heads. Hermione, Ron, and Harry smiled at eachother - this went unnoticed by Snape - but the rest of the class (other than, of course, Draco Malfoy, who was one of the best at potions) moaned wearily. Hermione did have some experience in brewing Polyjuice potions already, since she did so in her second year. She knew that this would put her well ahead of the rest of the class in skill. It still probably wouldn't get Snape to give her the mark she deserved, however, but something was always better than nothing.

"Before you sort yourselves into partners," Snape said irritably, glancing around the room to see if any students weren't paying attention, "I must have you know that your partners are already selected. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of our school, feels that there is not enough unity and comradery among the different houses. You will be working with someone from a different house today, I will read off your partners now." He cleared his throat, placing a fist in front of it, then let his cold, clammy hand down and began to read. "Mr. Potter will be paired with Mr. Crabbe…" He began, and Hermione could have sworn she saw him grin when he heard Harry moan, "Mr. Longbottom will be paired with Ms. Parkinson…" the same sound was heard from Pansy, "…Mr. Weasley will work with Mr. Goyle… and Ms. Granger will be with--"

Silently, Hermione prayed. _'Not Malfoy, not Malfoy… Please, not Malfoy…' _"-- Mr. Malfoy," Snape continued. Hermione sunk extremely low into her chair. Harry turned to look at her with sympathy, but she only grunted. Her, Hermione Granger! Paired with that despicable villain, Malfoy! It was unprecedented for sure, and she was all but willing to work with that vile, odious beast.

Draco smirked. He knew he would be working with Granger - call it a premonition, but it was just a feeling, and when it happened, the grin came unbidden to his face. Working with Hermione wouldn't be all too bad, he'd get to annoy her, and that was always rather fun.

Draco eyed Hermione. She wore the school uniform today rather than robes, her attire consisting of a rather _short_, pleated, gray skirt and a black sweater with the Hogwarts symbol sewn onto it. Her socks were knee-high and seemed to elongate her legs, which were long and sexy enough as it was. Sexy to most guys, anyway. _'She's anything **but** sexy…'_ Draco forced himself to think, now frowning. _'She has wild, disgusting hair, her faceis practically that of a man, and she's disgusting in short skirts.' _ Of course, none of these thoughts were true, but he wanted to think them anyway, for if he didn't, the thoughts he would have had could have been rather… dangerous.

Hermione glared at her desk, lips held together tightly, and she collected her books. She was certainly not looking forward to this; it was just another chance for Malfoy to call her a mudblood! Holding her books tightly in her arms (with no chance of dropping them whatsoever!), she treaded begrudgingly over to where Draco sat. She noticed there was a malicious grin twisting his lips, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Granger," he said with a half-second raise of his eyebrows. Still smiling, he bit his lower lip for only a second before letting his teeth slide back inside when he closed his mouth.

"Malfoy," Hermione returned, eyes half-lidded in an attempt to make herself appear casual. "I see you're all better."

"I heal quickly," he said back to her, sounding sure of himself.

"Well, that's just _wonderful_ for you, but now we should start on the polyjuice potion."

"I sense that you're not very delighted to be talking to me," he said coolly, his eyes level with hers.

"I'm glad that you've gotten something right for once in your life," she replied, smiling with fake warmth and feigning sweetness in her voice. He grunted.

Hermione quickly turned to the small cauldron in front of her, and began to open her text book when she heard Snape's (rather annoying) voice again. "This potion," he said slowly, "Will take a month to prepare. You will remain with your partner during that time, and you will remain with your partner the entire year--" Hermione groaned "--AND I expect to hear NO complaints." At that, she shut her mouth.

At the news, even Malfoy had a bit of a frown. Being stuck with Granger for one day was okay, but a whole MONTH for one potion? And a whole YEAR for after that? That would get rather tiresome, what with her please-oh-please-let-me-answer-the-question-I'm-so-smart attitude. Despite his own feelings, he smirked at her. "Looks like we're stuck together, _Granger,_" He said sweetly.

"Please don't remind me…" She grumbled before standing again. "Anyway, I'm going to go get the ingredients." Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione quickly noticed this and cut him off with her own words "**Don't** follow me," she said sternly before walking off (unusually quickly) to the closet where potion ingredients were kept.

The naughty little boy he was, Draco disobeyed. He followed her anyway, entirely convinced that she wouldn't be able to reach the lacewing flies _or_ the fluxweed - both of which were needed to brew the polyjuice potion. She didn't seem to notice that he had followed, however, so he contented himself with standing behind her as she fruitlessly reached for the lacewing flies on the very top shelf.

She was standing on the tips of her toes, stretching her arm as high as it could go - but alas, to no avail. She was quite a bit short for it yet. Giving up, she let her arm fall down and she smoothed her newly dusty skirt. Well, she would have to ask for Malfoy's help. And she fully intended to do so, but not in the way that it happened.

Her intent was to turn around, walk back to the desk, and politely ask Malfoy if he could reach the lacewing flies. Well, as it turned out, she only accomplished one of those - she had barely turned around when she collided with Malfoy's chest. He stumbled backwards, surprised by her sudden movement, and she did the same, only falling directly afterwards. She landed with a loud thump on her behind, her hands behind her, holding her up so that it looked like she was sitting. Her legs, of course, were apart, knees bent, and this gave Malfoy a _fairly_ good view of her knickers, which, to his surprise, were black. He let out a short breath of a chortle, taken aback by the news, and it soon escalated to full-fledged laughter.

"Take a good look, you filthy pervert!" Hermione shouted, quickly getting herself up to regain her composure. Today was **not** a good day to be wearing a skirt. Silently, she wished she had worn her robes instead.

Draco didn't seem to hear her insult, however, as he was too busy disrupting the class with loud peals of laughter. Hermione sighed - this would be a long day.

When Malfoy finally stopped laughing (Hermione could have sworn he almost wet himself) he deigned to collect the fluxweed and flies for her. By the time he had, she was already back at the desk, sternly reading the text book and blushing furiously. Draco returned to the desk, and quickly sat down beside the embarrassed girl. He grinned. "SOOO," he said with emphasis, promptly depositing the ingredients on the desk. "I hear girls who wear black knickers are desperate for a shag, is that why you wear th--"

"_Shut the fuck up, Malfoy,_" she interrupted, eyes still downcast to the textbook.

"Oooh, the goody-two-shoes shows her naughty side," he chided, raising his brows and grinning. "Quite a mouth you have there, Granger. Of course, dirty sluts usually swear a lot."

"_I am not a slut," _she seethed through gritted teeth, before turning to fully face him. "Nor am I a skank, a whore, or any other words that are synonymous with that. I am not desperate for a shag, and I am free to wear any color of underwear I want. Honestly, it shouldn't say anything about my personality!"

Draco just laughed, and that was all.

He didn't **actually** believe that girls who wore black knickers were sluts, he just liked to see Hermione frazzled, so he said it. It seemed to have the desired effect, and he quickly decided that she was almost attractive when blushing.

The rest of the class went rather roughly. Hermione blushed the entire time, and Malfoy, in the middle of silence, would begin to laugh. Once, Snape came over to tell them that they were far behind the class and to hurry it up or they'd both be put in detention, so they quickened their speed and ended up with an approving nod from the odious potions master.

When the class was done, Harry caught up with Hermione, who was rapidly fleeing from the class. "Woah, woah, WOAH!" he called, softly grabbing her arm in an attempt to make her stop moving so damn quickly. "What's gotten into you?" he asked, concerned, just before Ron caught up behind him.

"Just go away!" Hermione answered, pulling her arm in an attempt to get free from Harry's grasp. She succeeded, and rubbed the place where he had held on with her opposite hand.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked with a look on his face that could only be described as dumb.

"It was Malfoy, wasn't it? I'm going to kick his ass!"

"Don't!" She said quickly, whirling around to face the two boys. "He's not worth it. He's just a rude, selfish, perverted, useless--" Hermione was going to continue, but was interrupted by Ron, who had made a startling discovery from her choice of words.

"_Perverted?_" he repeated, dumbfounded in shock. "Was he hitting on you!" Ron's eyes narrowed, and he immediately clenched his fists.

"No!" She corrected, shaking her head swiftly. "Nothing like that! It's just… I fell, and he…"

"Oh God," Harry breathed, "He saw your knickers didn't he?" Hermione blushed. At Hermione's blush, Ron knew the answer, and he blushed, his ears turning slightly pink. When Ron blushed, Harry blushed, and the trio looked entirely stupid to the other people walking by. They were just a group of silent blushing people. It was rather funny, actually.

To Draco Malfoy, anyway.

Back in the Great Hall for lunch, Hermione took a quick look at her class schedule. Every class she had that day was with the Slytherins. _'Oh, just perfect.'_ Someone really needed to tell Dumbledore that Slytherins and Gryffindors generally didn't get along as a rule. Hermione would much rather be paired with the Ravenclaws, but alas, Hogwarts didn't work that way.

The closest upcoming class was divination. Hermione groaned. She supposed divination could have been an interesting subject, but the wacky teacher dort of ruined that idea. Hermione was thoroughly convinced that professor Trelawney was clinically insane.

"Lost in thought, are ya, Hermione?" Ron asked through (loud) chomps of his turkey sandwich. "Er…" She answered, rather unsure of what she was going to say. "Yeah. I guess so."

"Well, don't keep us waiting," Harry said quickly, taking a bite of his lunch. "What're you thinking about?"

Hermione sighed. "Just… classes. We're with the Slytherins all day."

"Oh, joy!" Harry said with forced excitement. "Oh, rapture! Divination with Malfoy!" He turned to Ron, giving a fake thoughtful look, and rubbed his chin between his index finger and thumb. "I wonder how well he'll do in divination after I shove his crystal ball up his ass!" Ron laughed in response, high-fiving Harry. Even Hermione grinned.

"You two are incorrigible!" she giggled, eyes shimmering with amusement.

"What do you think they're laughing so hard about?" Crabbe said to Goyle, his deep voice making him sound entirely stupid, which wasn't misleading at all.

"Probably something stupid… he he he he…" Goyle and Crabbe high-fived eachother, and Draco couldn't help but think how overwhelmingly, revoltingly moronic the two were. He glanced over to the Gryffindor table. The weasel and Potty were laughing very loudly, and Hermione was giggling sheepishly across from them. She seemed to have forgotten about the day's previous events. Though he would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, he found a sort of relief in the fact that she was finally smiling.

Silently, he turned back to his food and ate.


	3. Chapter 3

"Divination," Professor Trelawny began, shrillness present in her voice, "Is the art of seeing the _future._" She finished her words with a dramatic flourish of her hand, her usual forgetfulness causing her to overlook the fact that the students in her classroom knew the definition of 'divination'.. in fact, she had already informed them of it. Many, many times before.

"Crazy old bat," Draco Malfoy remarked with vague annoyance, earning a sharp glare from the golden trio – all but one, anyway. Hermione had been avoiding looking at him, which didn't go unnoticed by Ron and Harry – apparently she had gained her sheepish embarrassment back after she had lost it at lunch. In response, Harry patted her lightly on the back (which caused a slightly unladylike grunt from the still-embarrassed girl), and Ron merely pursed his lips; unaware of what to do with the situation. He offered a few consoling words of "It's okay, Hermione," before turning back to tiredly watch and listen to Professor Trelawny as her arms flourished and her voice shook.

"Crystal balls," Professor Trelawny said, her voice quivering like usual, "Are what we will be using today."

The class groaned in unison. As it was near the beginning of the year, they had not yet become accustomed to the onslaught of boredom that classroom assignments brought.

As the minutes passed, Professor Trelawny assigned three students to each crystal ball. She was a decent teacher as far as niceness went, and as such, Harry; Ron; and Hermione had been assigned to work together. This wrought forth a pleased grin from the two boys. However, Hermione didn't quite seem all that affected – she was lost in her thoughts. So as Trelawny was instructing them to not just _look _at the ball, but _feel _the ball, Hermione was reliving that rather unwelcome moment in Potions class.

It was like a movie (and, being a Muggle-born, Hermione had seen plenty), replaying the scene in slow motion: Hermione turning, running into Malfoy, falling.. and then the very, very, very horrible laughter that followed soon after that.

Ron took a tentative glance over at Hermione during Professor Trelawny's '_FEEL_ the ball' speech, noticing the heavy blush that seemed to have crept onto her cheeks sometime between the last time he looked at her and this time. He raised a quizzical brow but soon looked back to the professor.

Hermione held her hands in her lap, clenched firmly atop her skirt, holding it to her legs as if it were about to fly up and bare her jet-black panties for all to see. Hey, it had already happened once today – why not again? She sighed drearily, wishing for the class to be over for dinner. Why? Probably so she could change into another pair of panties.

"So you really saw her panties?" Crabbe whispered – or as close to whispering as he could get (it was more like a dull roar).

"Mm," Draco nodded absently – his mind was elsewhere, but it wasn't like the goons, Crabbe and Goyle, would notice.

"And they were really.. _black?!_" Goyle asked to confirm, his eyes glistening with amusement and probably perversion.

"Mm." Another small nod from the blonde, and Crabbe and Goyle guffawed almost merrily.

"And you really _saw _them? And they were _black?_" Crabbe asked, apparently unaware that he was repeating questions that had already been asked.

"Yes, you great buffoon!" Draco seethed, his silvery eyes narrowed angrily in the burly boy's direction. "I saw them, and they were black." He leaned back in his chair with arms crossed, and rolled his eyes. It was times like these that he wished he had smarter friends.

It was at that moment that he heard a light giggle from across the room. There was a lot of noise in the room, of course – students gossiping and chortling; not to mention that Professor Trelawny was _still_ talking. He didn't quite recognize the voice – it had a girlish charm to it, something the laughter of most girls he knew lacked. His ears twitched, a habit he had developed, and he turned in the direction of the giggle.

There, sure enough, was Hermione, giggling happily; her embarrassment gone and her silence dead. Pity.. He liked her a lot better when she wasn't talking. If he liked her at all, which he didn't.

It was sort of refreshing in a way to see her happy about something. Usually he only saw her angry side. That was to be expected, of course – after all, he was always trying to make her angry! He did a damn good job of it too. Apparently something either Potter or the Weasel had said amused her, because the two verily despised boys seemed to be smirking in their own right. He scoffed bitterly, and chose to dwell his thoughts on more pleasant subjects, like mauling kittens; burning other people's possessions; beating Potter in Quidditch; Granger's panties, and.. wait, what was that last one? Mauling kittens. Right, yes, that was it. Mauling kittens.

The second that he had thought that – er, last one – he had almost choked on his own saliva. Granger's panties? A pleasant thought? Hardly. Maybe burning them. With Granger still attached to them. He cackled.

"But really Ron, **four** inches?" Hermione giggled and gasped disbelievingly, a pink twinge to her face as Ron continued talking.

"Hand of God! He's four inches! And a terrible kisser too. Apparently Pansy just _got right up and walked out._" At this, Hermione burst into an incurable fit of giggles, something which made Ron smile. They had begun talking about Malfoy a few minutes ago, and since the stories of Malfoy's lack of sexual prowess had begun, Hermione's mood seemed to improve considerably.

Of course, Ron was talking out of his own ass – that is to say, he was making everything up. But what did it matter? He could amuse Hermione a little – after all, the only expense was Malfoy's embarrassment, and that was barely an expense at all. It might earn him a few more wisecracks about his financial situation from the aforementioned blonde if word got around, but it was worth it, right? This was _Hermione._

Soon afterwards, Professor Trelawny finished talking about the ins and outs of divination, and the class was given their assignment. Said assignment, of course, was the same assignment they always got – look into the crystal ball, try and see the future, and then write about what you see. Simple as that.

It was Ron's turn first. The trio usually picked Ron to go first, as he always struggled, and they found it best to get Ron's miserable failure out of the way first. Actually, all of them struggled, and they all achieved a miserable failure at the end. Professor Trelawny wasn't a very productive teacher, and they – like everyone else in the class – simply made up a bunch of lies about what they apparently saw.

"I don't see anything," Ron grumbled, squinting with aggravation at the clear glassy ball.

"No one ever does," Hermione replied consolingly, and then motioned towards Harry to try his hand at divination.

Harry nodded and looked at the ball sitting on its stand in the middle of the table. His eyes squinted, and then widened, and then squinted again. He made a rather strange expression with his face, and started to talk in a very deep, shaky voice. "I see something very spoooooooky…" he said humorously, earning amused laughter from his two comrades. "Oh.. Oh God, it's terrible.." Harry said, sounding more 'spooky' and scared by the minute. "It's disgusting, it's _vile_, it's **horrible**, it's--"

"Malfoy's face?" Ron offered with a grin.

"Wow, way to steal my punchline, Ron," Harry snorted, and the two started to laugh jovially at their (highly immature) humor. Hermione smiled, though she didn't really find the joke all that funny.

Actually, Malfoy's face wasn't disgusting, vile, or horrible in the least. It was simply that she had become accustomed to associating the face with something bad – its owner.

Turning to her left, she glanced across the room, where the silk-haired boy sat, arms crossed, eyes closed, and one leg folded across the other. She pursed her lips, looking him over.

He – or at least his face – truly wasn't all that unpleasant. It was almost nice, actually. It had matured since they were 11 – his face had become leaner with less of that boyish pudge, and his skin seemed to have darkened some. His hair, however, was just as blindingly light – almost whitish in color. He looked almost.. handsome. His skin was clear of acne, which was odd for one his age, and it looked smooth to the touch. Not that Hermione would ever want to actually touch it.. would she?

Actually, there was that one time she had slapped him. She remembered it pretty clearly – it was certainly a great day. And yes, his face had felt rather soft, almost girlish. She wondered how he kept it like that.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she said suddenly, her awareness stirred to life as she glanced around the table at the two boys, no longer lost in thought.

"It's.. your turn to look at the crystal ball."

"Oh.. Oh!" Hermione said, apparently having forgotten about the assignment while she had been dwelling in her thoughts.

She looked down at the ball, and as soon as she did that, she was lost in her thoughts again. And again, her thoughts were about her vilest enemy – Draco Malfoy. Of course, she didn't seem to realize that all the things she had thought about him for the past few minutes were good things – about his.. somewhat attractive.. face, and soft skin, and _what the fuck was that in the crystal ball._

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts' stupor as she looked at the ball. There was something in it. It was rather hard to make out, but it was kind of peachy and tan at the same time. Her brow furrowed and she looked closer, her brown eyes twinkling with sudden curiosity.

That was when it dawned on her – some feeling, some sudden awareness, as if she were connected with anything and everything around her. She seemed to feel everything, see everything, hear everything, all in a frenzy of flurried sights, sounds, and feelings. _'Is this a.. premonition?'_ she wondered, still trying to see the fuzzy image inside the ball more clearly.

Then, all at once, the fuzziness sharpened, and things that were once a blur became distinct lines and shadows.

She saw two bodies; two people. They seemed to be locked in a lovers' embrace; their lips joined together in an entirely passionate – entirely _sexual_ – kiss. Hermione blushed furiously. Why was she seeing _this? _Was there a porno in her future?

Despite her apparent shyness, she continued watching, engorged in the scene playing out before her eyes: skin-on-skin, lips moving, tongues dancing.. It was awkward to be watching this in front of Harry and Ron. Sure, she had been kissed before, but it was nothing like _that._

Then, the two figures, much to Hermione's relief, pulled away, revealing themselves to be Hermione herself, and..

Draco..

Fucking..

Malfoy.

Hermione let out a frightened screech and smacked the ball off the table, breathing heavily as she watched it roll away. Harry and Ron stared at her, as did the rest of the class, and she bit her lip. "Uhh. There was a bug on it. I hate bugs," she explained quickly, standing up as her muscles tightened in sheer, palpable embarrassment.

Ron and Harry said nothing, only stared. Their stares soon turned to eachother, and they shrugged their shoulders and chalked it up in their heads to the sudden outburst being 'that time of the month'.

Of course, no one ever would have assumed that Hermione saw anything in the ball.. and if they did, certainly none of them would even think of her seeing _that._

"That's not right – it can't be right," Hermione mumbled to herself as class ended, walking quickly and desperately out of the classroom. Her classmates' gazes followed her as she left.

"No, no, no, no, **NO,**" Hermione seethed, walking quickly through the hallways and staring at the ground, racking her brain for an answer as to why she saw that in the crystal.

'_That's not my future,'_ she reasoned with herself. _'I hate Malfoy. I hate him. It was just my mind playing tricks on me.. I'm delirious.. Maybe the crystal ball is broken. Yes, the ball is malfunctioning, and it's showing things that aren't actually going to happen.'_

She continued thinking along that train of thought as she walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, shaking her head all the while and mumbling tens of 'No's as she walked.

Then, suddenly, Hermione slammed facefirst into something hard, and she recoiled, bringing her hand to her newly-pained nose. "Ouch."

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood."

The hard thing she slammed into? Yeah, apparently it was Draco Malfoy's chest. Damn, how had he gotten there before her?

Hermione looked up to his face, which was reciprocally leering down at hers. She huffed disconcertedly and gathered her astronomy book and parchment from the floor, very aware of Malfoy's eyes looking down at her as she did so.

"Cat got your tongue?" Malfoy taunted, his lips turning into a viciously amused smirk. "Usually you have more to say than this," he continued, voicing his observation with the same grin still there.

"Sh-shut up," Hermione managed, feeling her cheeks heat up as they turned a rather embarrassing shade of red.

Draco, who was very unused to seeing Hermione embarrassed simply by talking to him, quirked a brow in a silent inquiry, which went unanswered by the fiercely blushing girl.

"What're you blushing for..?" Draco asked slowly, suspiciously; though the tone of suspicion did not nearly cover the normal sharpness of his voice.

"I am NOT blushing!" the girl protested, staring at the floor as her lip quivered.

Well, this certainly was odd. Draco noted that with a vague hint of interest, crossing his arms and tilting his head. The telltale smirk seemed to have faded slightly, but had not disappeared. First she screams and smacks the crystal ball, and now she was blushing for no reason.

Draco, sharp as ever, assumed there was a slight connection between the divination class's events and what was happening now.

"Why did you smack the ball away?" he inquired, his tone sounding calm and unaffected.

"Bug. There was a bug on it," Hermione mumbled almost incoherently, glancing around at the hallway's passers-by – most of which who were staring at the two in wonder why they were even standing in the same vicinity, much less talking to eachother.

"You're not afraid of bugs," Draco answered flatly, earning an even deeper blush from Hermione.

"Yes I am, I'm _terrified,_" Hermione responded, more smoothly this time. She seemed to have regained her confidence, anyway. Her voice was dramatic, but not all too believable. She clearly was not an experienced liar.

"No you aren't. Answer me, Granger: why did you smack the crystal ball?"

Hermione's brow furrowed in palpable frustration and her eyes narrowed at the man. She really didn't know what to do other than that. She wasn't afraid of Malfoy – certainly not! And she didn't easily get embarrassed by his words. But then again, it wasn't every day she saw herself being snogged senseless by him in a crystal ball.

During the lengthening silence, Draco seemed to be piecing the puzzle together in his mind. He certainly wasn't stupid, after all - generally a rotten person, maybe – but not at all stupid. So when Draco voiced his apparent discovery, Hermione's mouth dropped open – it would have fallen to the floor if it weren't stuck on her face.

"You saw something in the ball, didn't you?"

The blush crept away from Hermione's cheeks and her face's color returned to its usual peachlike state – apparently the girl had grown quite sick of being embarrassed.

"I didn't see anything. No one ever does," she responded, regaining control of her mouth after her jaw had dropped. She 'hmphed' at him and started to leave.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have supper to attend," Hermione said coolly, her eyes finally lifting away from Malfoy's face and directing down the hall.

Draco watched the Gryffindor girl as she left. _'Peculiar, that one,'_ he noted in his head, before turning his gaze to where Crabbe and Goyle were proceeding towards him. _'Great.'_

Some minutes later, all of the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were eating dinner in the great hall.

All of them, at is, except one.

Hermione Granger sat miserably on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, fuming over the day's events.

'_That vile, despicable, horrible, terrible, __**EVIL **__boy,' _she thought, clearly enraged by the happenings. _'First he sees my underwear, and has the nerve to call me – me! – a slut, and he won't stop calling me a mudblood, and then… then…'_

Hermione thought back to the rather – er, upsetting – kiss that had taken place within the crystal ball. Well, it upset the real Hermione at least. It didn't seem to upset crystal-ball-Hermione in the least. Actually, crystal-ball-Hermione seemed to enjoy it… A lot. Imagine! Her, Hermione Granger, a muggle-born, enjoying a kiss from that muggle-hating, 'mudblood'-spewing, insult-throwing little man! It was preposterous! Unthinkable! She would never actually enjoy it – would she? No, no. Impossible!

"So what were you and Granger talking about back there?" Pansy Parkinson asked, her gaze directed at none other than Draco Malfoy as she put a spoonful of pudding in her mouth.

Draco shrugged, his demeanor as cool and collected as ever. He sighed boredly and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. "Nothing really. I asked her what the fuss over the crystal ball was."

"And?"

"She wouldn't tell me."

"Oh," Pansy responded dumbly, the pudding still in her mouth. Draco decided she wasn't very attractive when eating.

"She looked pretty embarrassed," Millicent Bulstrode chimed in, her blue eyes flicking in Draco's direction.

"Yeah, she was."

"Just to be talking to you."

"Yeah.. she was."

"Just to be _talking _to you."

"Yes, I know."

"Just to be talking to _**YOU.**_"

"Yes, I understand that, Millicent," Draco answered shortly, getting slightly frazzled with Millicent's seemingly unnecessary repetitions. He was about to bark out an insult, when it hit him: she was implying something, wasn't she?

"…What are you trying to say?"

"I'm _saying,_" Millicent answered, taking a sip of milk before continuing, "That _maybe _Hermione likes you."

Draco simply stared at her, his silvery eyes dulling in a state of shock and disbelief, before he burst out laughing in an almost jovial way. "You think that mudblood Granger likes me? Oh, come on!"

"I think _Hermione_ likes you," Millicent responded. Millicent was by no means a friend of Hermione, but the two had talked on occasion. She still didn't approve of the other Slytherins' contempt for muggle-borns, or their constant use of the word 'mudblood'. For a Slytherin, she was at least polite.

The blonde-haired boy's laughter faded to silence eventually, and he gave Millicent a cold look. "No way in hell," he said forcefully, a biting tone to his voice. Millicent glared at him before taking a deep drink of milk, and then glared at him again afterwards.

"If she was blushing just because she was _talking_ to you, then there was obviously _something_ going on in her head."

"Yes, because I saw her knickers earlier today. She was embarrassed because of that."

"Hermione Granger," Millicent replied with emphasis, "Would not _still _be blushing over a boy seeing her panties if she didn't like him. She would call him an immature dolt and return to her work."

"Oh, so you're an expert then! So tell me, are you taking Hermione Granger classes now, too?"

"She likes you, Draco," Millicent said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"No, she doesn't. Right, Goyle?"

Gregory Goyle looked at Draco nervously and then shrugged his shoulders before returning to his pile of chocolate-frosted cupcakes. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Pansy?"

Pansy, whose face had turned a rather angry-looking red (probably out of jealousy) muttered something about 'hating the little bitch' and looked away.

"Crabbe?!" Draco exclaimed desperately, searching for a hint of agreement from his crony.

"I dunno, man," Crabbe responded gutturally, taking a large bite of a chicken drumstick and continuing to talk while chewing. "I mean, she did look pretty nervous."

Draco, giving into defeat, crossed his arms and grumbled incoherently. He glanced across the tables to where Hermione usually sat, searching for her familiar face. He didn't find it. He did, however, see Potty and the weasel chatting away amicably as if she weren't even gone. His eyes closed.

And at that very moment, if the Slytherins had been looking hard enough, they might have noticed the ghost of a blush that tainted Draco Malfoy's cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4: A New Revelation

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Hermione listened wearily as the second hand of the clock above the fireplace made its rounds. Her eyes were looking in the direction of the clock, but not quite acknowledging its movement – she was staring into space.

How long had it been? She didn't know. Shaking herself into a state somewhat resembling awareness, she focussed on the clock, her mind taking a while to process the time.

6:47 PM. Dinner in the great hall would be over in around 15 minutes, and she would have missed the entire thing. Not that it mattered – she honestly wasn't hungry. She was too stressed to be hungry.

She held her quill loosely in her hand, hanging it above the parchment for the divination assignment she had yet to write. She blinked once, twice, and then stared at the paper. Normally when doing her schoolwork she had a flurry of thoughts that escalated so quickly that she barely had enough time to write them all down. But now.. now it was a complete blank. What was she supposed to write? That she saw herself nearly shagging a man she hated senseless? No, she couldn't write that. First of all, it wasn't quite appropriate for a school paper, and second of all, she simply _could not tell anyone about it._

_Today, when looking into the crystal ball.._ she wrote, her script rather careless and sloppy, _I saw…_

She stopped.

Hermione realized that somewhere between when she had started writing and stopped, her breathing had become very shallow and beads of sweat had begun to form on her forehead. She was scared.

Yes, Hermione was scared. Scared of what was to come; scared of the idea that she _might_ end up kissing Draco Malfoy so feverishly; scared that the crystal ball had been right. And as her fright built up, so did her heartbeat, and she began to think back to that fateful scene she had seen in the crystal ball.

_He held her with such strength; such controlled desperation as he neared her, smoothing her wavy chestnut locks away from her face as he went in for the kill. His kiss was passionate and longing, with a certain powerful edge to it that hinted he was perfectly experienced in how to please. His mouth moved over hers, roved over it, and she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Taking her lower lip into his mouth, he nibbled and sucked on it until she sighed. He took it as an invitation._

_His tongue dipped into her mouth, stroked hers once, and then twice. It was soft at first, requesting her compliance, and as she gave it, his kisses became more demanding. More heated. She lifted her chin as his kisses trailed down to her jaw, and lower…_

Hermione was wrought forth from her thoughts as the door to the Gryffindor common room opened and shut, revealing the forms of Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus to her view. She tried to control the rapidly growing blush that came to her face, but her efforts were fruitless. Her breathing was shallow and broken, and her heart was beating a mile a minute.. Beads of sweat formed on her brow and she wiped them away, chewing mercilessly on her lower lip as a stress reliever.

'_Did I..' _she thought desperately, trying to make sense of what had just happened, _'Did I just have a fantasy about Draco Malfoy?'_

Potions the next day went by rather roughly, as was expected by Hermione. It had started with the regular short-lived lecture from Snape (some half-hearted tirade about inter-house unity), and continued with the class sorting themselves into their assigned pairs.

Harry and Ron seemed to be having a bit of trouble with their partners – Crabbe and Goyle were merciless with their taunts, and Hermione would have given them a piece of her mind had she been able to separate herself from her current thoughts.

What were those thoughts, you ask? The same thing she thought last night. It was pure, unadulterated wonderment – not necessarily positive, just a curious quizzicality that came with the possible knowledge that someday, perhaps someday soon, she would be locking lips with the one and only Draco Malfoy.

Her fantasy the night before had been a slip-up. Yes, just a little mistake; a lapse in judgement; a temporary slip into the realm of taboo. She wouldn't call it a _fantasy_, persay – whether or not she was in denial, she didn't even know – she would call it a _memory._ A simple recalling of what she had seen. But it was more than a memory, it was some sort of sexually maniacal story that played out in front of her and kept her from thinking clearly. She didn't even _want_ to recall the (slightly delightful) pool of heat that had formed in her abdomen when thinking those thoughts.

Hermione sat down at her desk across from Malfoy, who was looking entirely suspicious – maybe even accusing. She chose not to dwell on it, and instead turned to her work, penning down the various ingredients and brewing methods that she knew about the polyjuice potion. She wrote hastily for 2 or 3 minutes, glad to be absorbed in something other than Draco Malfoy, and then noticed from her peripheral vision that the man himself had not moved the entire time she was writing. She looked up.

Malfoy was _still _looking at her. It made her feel entirely unnerved – what was he staring for?

Hermione glowered at him, a firm glare and bitter scowl cast in his direction, and demanded, "What?!"

"I know your secret."

Hermione's eyes widened. She almost choked on air, but tried to remain calm, clenching her pen rather disconcertedly in her right hand.

"Excuse me, what?"

"I know your secret," he repeated evenly, his tone sounding rather finite – leaving no room for argument.

'_He knows?!'_ she thought desperately. He couldn't know, could he? After all, Hermione hadn't _told _anyone what she saw in the crystal ball. And, while observant, Draco Malfoy was certainly _not_ a mind-reader. And Hermione hadn't even bothered to write about it in her diary – so how could he possibly know?

No, he didn't know. It had to be a trick. A trick to scare her. Yes, that was it.

Hermione's brow lowered slightly, and she smoothed a stray lock of brown hair from her face, her eyes meeting his. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said calmly, proud of her own smoothness.

"Come off it, Granger," Malfoy said, his tone accusatory with a hint of…playfulness? "I know what you think of me."

"You know what I think of you?" Hermione answered coolly, slowly realizing that he did not indeed know what she had seen. "Well, by now you _should _know that you are verily despised by me. After all, I haven't tried very hard to hide it. But would you like a prize for your effort? I'm sure you stayed up all night figuring it out," she smirked, entirely proud that she had managed to speak words – actual sentences! – to Draco Malfoy without breaking into a blush. Granted, it had been easy to do _before_ she saw the wretched sight – but no one would act normal after that.

"Don't hide it from me, Granger," Draco said dangerously, although there was still that playful, mischievous smirk on his face. "I know you like me."

And it was then, at that moment that Hermione's entire world stopped.

It took her a moment to regain her mental consciousness. Her mouth had dried and dropped open. Her eyes had widened to the size of saucers. Her heart seemed to stop completely. All of her senses faded to nothing.

And then she felt filled – no, _overwhelmed_ – by nothing other than hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred for Draco Malfoy. Her sense returned.

"_Like_ you?! You think I _LIKE_ you?!" Hermione demanded, her words being practically snarled out as her fists clenched tightly.

"I _know _you like me," Draco said with a satisfied grin.

Of course, Draco was lying through his teeth. He didn't think she liked him at all. But there was always a possibility, right? Millicent Bulstrode said she probably did – and those two had talked before. It was highly unbelievable, barely probable, but entirely possible – it was the possibility that drove him. After all, what better thing to do during potions than bother the little muggle-born?

Hermione was taken aback. "You.. you…!"

"You want to call me something?" Draco purred coolly, sliding the parchment Hermione had been writing on to the side and leaning on his elbows on the desk. "Just call me hot.. charming.. ravishing.. a sex god."

"Idiot!" Hermione bit back, her cheeks inflamed. She didn't know if it was anger, or embarrassment. Anger, right? Yes. Had to be anger.

Draco's lips curled into an attractively devilish smile as he heard her insult. His eyelids fell halfway, partially shielding his glimmering silvery eyes. He said nothing, only smiled at Hermione, and she sighed, thankful and relieved that the conversation appeared to be over.

She returned the parchment to its previous spot on the desk and began to write desperately, though distracted by the man across from her.

'_That smile..' _she thought, stealing a bit of a look up at Draco's lips, which were still curled and smirking. She looked down, blushing slightly. That smile, it was just so.. hideously, repulsively, undeniably _attractive. _She tried denying this to herself, but the thought remained there, and she shook her head as if that would make the dangerous idea fly out of her brain, out her ears, and away from her.

It wasn't that she had just noticed _now_, however. She always knew his smile was.. er, at least _mildly_ attractive. It was always so calm; so sure; so controlled; so unbelievably _satisfied_ at a job well done. _'But that's Dra – I mean, Malfoy,'_ Hermione thought somewhat musingly, _'He's all of those things.'_

Yes, he was. He did everything with a definiteness that he was doing it right. He had a confidence about him – a sureness. Everything he did, he executed perfectly, without any flaw or mar. He was graceful, almost beautifully so. But he was just so, so _horrible_ at the same time.

'_Yes, he's horrible,' _Hermione assured herself. _'Absolutely horrible.'_

She continued writing, talking endlessly on the page about the potion and its effects, and she soon found that she was running out of paper. Sighing, she set her pen down, preparing herself to walk to Snape's desk and request more parchment to write on. But she stopped suddenly.

Hermione felt the slightest brush of _something _on the inner side of her knee. She stopped breathing. The feeling disappeared, and her breath returned, though irregular with fright and frustration and something else she couldn't quite name. She glared accusingly at Draco, who smirked wickedly back. What was he planning?

Deciding to ignore it, Hermione almost stood up again before she felt a shock – some sort of heated electricity – course through her skin from its starting point where her knee met her thigh.

"_Malfoy, what are you doing?!_" Hermione whispered accusingly, though she stopped as she realized **exactly **what he was doing. He was…stroking her thigh.

It was only the lightest of touches, barely even there, but it was so _felt, _so _obvious_, so _palpable…_her thigh seemed to heat up at his touch, spreading through her body and up to her cheeks. She could feel her muscles tighten.

"Shy, Granger?" Draco smirked… that same smirk again…The delighted, assured, satisfied smirk. She hated him. "Even better."

Draco, despite his hatred for the recipient of his touches, was having quite a lot of fun. He was messing with her again, and it was amazing - absolutely _delightful._ He knew Hermione was having quite a hard time trying to regulate her breathing; keep it normal; not show any signs that she was enjoying his ministrations. But it was obvious; he could see it on her face. The thing about Granger: she never was a very good actress.

"_Malfoy.." _Hermione whispered dangerously, throwing an icy glare in his direction – a glare which was heavily marred by her rising blush. She was shocked into stopping again when she felt his hand travel up, slipping slightly – only slightly – under the material of her school uniform's pleated skirt.

"Giving me easy access, Granger?" Draco teased, his palms and fingers rubbing her thigh in a soothing way.

But for Hermione, his touch was anything _but _soothing – it was electrifying. It seemed to ravage her senses, take control of her whole body with heat. It wasn't a good heat.. she didn't think. It was a scary sort of feeling, that Draco Malfoy's – her most hated person's – hand was travelling up her skirt.

She sat there, rooted to the spot, as his hand travelled further upwards. _'I'm not going to scream,' _she thought desperately, _'I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. He just wants to bother me. I won't give him what he wants.'_

"You just can't leave me alone, can you Malfoy?" Hermione said as calmly as she could, forcing the words through a series of withheld sighs. He was smirking still.

"You love it," he stated calmly, watching her every move. His hand travelled to the elastic at the top of her right leg, and slipped under it ever so slightly. Hermione recoiled, finally breaking the contact with a few shaky breaths.

'_He almost touched my..'_ Hermione's thoughts trailed off in a daze, and she sat there on the chair simply catching her breath for a moment before she went to retrieve the paper she needed.

When she looked back at Draco, his eyes were looking down, his mind thoroughly absorbed in the text book.

The next few classes had gone just as badly as Potions. Hermione hadn't said a word all day, other than a brokenly stuttered "I'm fine, Ron," when inquired of as to whether she was okay. Once, during divination, she had taken a curious glance over in Malfoy's direction. He seemed to sense her looking, so he looked back with a smile and a playful wink.

She didn't look at him again.

Draco sat at supper the same way he had sat the previous day: eyes closed, arms crossed, one leg folded over the other, leaning back in the chair. As always, his face was cool and calculating.

"How did you do with Granger today?" Crabbe teased Draco curiously, rewarded with not a single response from the man himself. "That well, eh?" Crabbe snorted, then returned to engorging himself in his pile of roast beef.

"Yes, how _did_ it go with the little bitch?" Pansy asked accusingly. Draco noticed that Pansy had never referred to Hermione as 'the little bitch' before it had been expressed that she might have feelings for him. He noted that it would probably be Pansy's new name from her from now on. Pansy received a peeved glare from Millicent, who apparently didn't appreciate the insult to Hermione. Pansy ignored it. "She didn't hit on you, did she?" Pansy continued, her dark eyes staring at Draco and her tone demanding an answer. His lips curled into an amused smile, but he answered tonelessly. "No, she didn't."

"Good," Pansy replied, taking a spoonful of caramel pudding into her mouth. "Because if she did, I would have had to kill her."

Draco opened his eyes and rolled them irritably, then turned his gaze toward Millicent, who seemed to be staring at him in accusation.

"What?" he asked boredly.

"I need to talk to you," she replied, taking a furtive glance around the table. "Alone."

Pansy's blood boiled at the request, and she turned her narrowed eyes to Draco. "Drac--"

"Come off it, Pansy," he replied, cutting her off with his remark. He turned back to Millicent. "Where and when?"

"Out of here. And now would be a good time," Millicent responded, her tone sounding slightly aggravated.

"Very well then," Draco said coolly, not even close to unnerved by the sharpness in Millicent's voice. "Where shall we go?"

Millicent led Draco to a rarely used hallway outside an old classroom, her arms crossing as they stopped walking. She turned to face him, her expression rather angry.

"Yes?" he asked with boredom, having no real interest in what she had to say. His thoughts were elsewhere. Specifically on Hermione, and how she sounded when she was trying to hold back a gasp..

"I saw you and Hermione," Millicent answered bluntly, her eyes confidently looking at Draco's, which were rolling rather sardonically.

"Yeah. So?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Had to get something out of her somehow," Draco answered coolly, his mouth curling again into a vicious smirk. "Jealous?"

"Don't go there, Draco," Millicent said darkly, her nose twitching a bit.

"Temper, temper," Draco pouted, "And I was just having a little fun."

"Well don't 'have fun' with her," Millicent responded warningly, her eyes narrowed and glaring at the man in front of her.

"But I want to," he answered evenly, his telltale smirk returning.

"Do you like her?"

For one of the only times in his life, Draco Malfoy was taken aback. He didn't respond for a moment or two, his breath having been hitched in his throat, but eventually he answered: "..What?"

"Do you like her?" Millicent repeated.

"Huh? No!"

"Are you sure?"

Draco remained silent. Did he like her? No, of course not. He didn't, right? There was nothing to like about her. Well, he had to give her some credit – she was passionate, at least. Everything she did was so driven, so poignant. There was always meaning behind what she did, and she sought results incessantly – he didn't think he had ever seen her give up before. Oh, and her legs looked fairly nice in a short skirt.

He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, and this time it was Millicent's turn to grin.

"You do. I knew it."

"I never said that."

"But you do. I can see it in your face."

That was the thing about Millicent – she was very observant. She could read everyone's expressions and actions perfectly, and always seemed to know what was going on. She was a damned mind reader, that one.

"I have a _vague_ interest in her," Draco offered, a calm confession.

"Are you interested in her emotionally, or physically?"

"…I don't know."

"Oh, that is so _cute!!_"

"Come off it, Mil," Draco flushed slightly, the smirk disappearing from his face. "It's hardly cute."

"Oh, but it is." She smiled. "I am going to do whatever I have to in order to get you two together!"

"I can handle it myself, thanks," Draco declined, his voice in another somewhat-smile.

His eyes caught movement from across the hall, a wavy-haired girl walking through the corridors.

"Excuse me, Millicent, but I have a matter to attend to," he said calmly, before heading off down the hallway. He turned his head back, looking at her with a bit of a dipped brow.

"Oh, and Millicent.. If you tell anyone about this, I'll make you wish you had never been born."


	5. Chapter 5: The First Step

Hermione eased herself into the steaming hot water, cringing a bit as it heated her skin rather uncomfortably. In just a few seconds she had become used to the water and what was once pain became a soothing, calming sensation. She sunk into the water with a vague smile on her face.

Hermione had come to the prefect bathrooms only a few minutes before, but she already felt somewhat better about the day's events. She felt calm and relaxed; pleased that she finally had something to make her forget about her stress.

But of course, the effects of the stress-relieving bath only lasted for a minute or two, and then she was thinking about Malfoy all over again. Or, to be more precise, she was thinking about how it felt when Malfoy had.. er.. touched her. It had felt something like a fire burning.

Yes, a burning fire. It felt heated and a little uncomfortable. Okay, very uncomfortable. But it also felt.. Well, she couldn't quite think of a word. Not _pleasurable_… More like.. Well, it aroused her curiosity. (It also aroused other things.. Not that Hermione would admit it.) She had found herself both angry at the thought of his touches but also wondering what more of them would be like.. and that scared her. She wasn't _supposed _to want to be touched by Draco Malfoy. And the only time she had ever purposely touched him, she had slapped him quite harshly across the face. That was the only time she had wanted to come in physical contact with him.

But now.. she wasn't so sure. It felt almost.. _good_ to have him touch her. Well, not necessarily good, but she wanted more. Hermione couldn't believe she was thinking that.. She _wanted_ to feel Draco touching her. She _wanted_ skin to skin contact. But it couldn't be just Malfoy, could it? No, it couldn't just be him. The fact was that Hermione had never been touched like that by anyone. Viktor Krum had kissed her once or twice, but it had always been a quick peck and she never let it escalate to anything more. Hermione was still a virgin.

She really couldn't say the same for Malfoy, though. Malfoy was reputably known as the Slytherin sex god – he had his ways of, er, playing the field. But it really just wasn't _playing _the field. It was more like shagging the field senseless. She knew that Ron and Harry also weren't virgins – they had their share of women taken to bed, but they weren't nearly as reputed as Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy. Just that name made her angry. It made her frustrated, and mad, and breathless, and—_who the fuck just opened that door._

Hermione's hands instinctively covered her chest as her head snapped sideways, eyes searching for the form of whoever had impeded on her bath.

Who had she expected? Anyone but whom she found.

Yes. She saw Draco fucking Malfoy.

Her eyes narrowed to a rather vicious glare as his face came out of the shadows, and following the face was his… well, his body.

Hermione's eyes widened to the size of saucers at his form. She had known he must have had a fairly decent body, but she had never actually _seen _it before.

His bodily features were just as severe as his facial ones. He was slightly broad-shouldered with a lean waist, perfect ivory skin, and muscles that were just defined enough to tempt any woman. His arms were built perfectly, probably from the years of playing quidditch, and he had a perfect six-pack: well-defined, but not grossly so.

Hermione's eyes travelled lower and she was _extremely_ relieved to find a towel covering his – er – manly parts. A blush crept to her cheeks at the very thought of _anyone's_ manly parts.. especially Draco Malfoy's.

"See something you like, Granger?" came his voice, as silky and self-assured as it always was.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione barked back, her eyes narrowing yet again to the same icy glare.

"To light myself on fire and dance the cha-cha. Honestly, woman, I want to _bathe._"

"I think I liked the idea where you lit yourself on fire better," Hermione mumbled, earning the same telltale smirk from Malfoy that he always seemed to be using lately. She irritably noticed that the impish grin seemed to be plastered to his face.

He stepped into the water a couple of feet from Hermione (_'Keeping the towel on, thank god,' _thought Hermione.) _'These baths are HUGE,'_ she whined mentally. _'Why does he have to be so CLOSE?'_

Draco Malfoy, however, did not appear to care about the closeness. He was simply sitting in the water, eyes closed, head tilted back. _'He looks so calm,'_ she observed, tilting her head to the side with vague curiousness. Apparently his purpose was not to come and molest her this time.

"Ow," she suddenly said, wincing. Draco popped an eye open.

"What?" he asked, sounding vaguely bothered.

"My shoulder hurts," Hermione answered in a short complaint.

"Then get out and go to bed."

"I'm not getting out, I'm _NAKED._"

"Then you're staying until I leave; shoulder be damned," Malfoy answered crossly, crossing his arms over eachother and sinking further into the water.

Hermione turned away from him and looked in the opposite direction, reaching her arms up to rub her shoulders in an attempt to soothe. Her efforts were fruitless, and she groaned in slight pain. She could hear water splashing from behind her, but chose to ignore it, continuing her rather pathetically executed rubbing of her shoulders. However, she didn't quite get to finish her attempted ministrations as something pushed her hands out of the way and replaced them.

"Malfoy!" Her head snapped back, and she winced at the pain that flew through her shoulders.

"Stop it. You'll make it worse," he commanded. Then, without the slightest warning, he began to rub her shoulders.

Hermione gasped, wrenching herself from his touch as she turned, raising her arm to slap him. She closed her eyes, expecting her hand to meet harshly with his face, but she felt her wrist being caught by his hand.

"Not this time, Granger," he warned, his eyes cold and his lips in a scowl. She frowned.

What was going on? He seemed so moody. One minute he was calling her a mudblood, and the next he was.. touching her.. and then he rubbed her shoulders, and now he was frowning like **she** had done something wrong!

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione said darkly, her amber-chocolate eyes narrowed in obvious distaste for the man in front of her. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the heat that welled in her wrist where he was holding it.

"Just turn around!"

"No, you'll touch m-"

And without so much as a second's notice, Malfoy had released Hermione's wrist, placed his hands on her shoulders and simply spun her around. She was about to give him a piece of her mind when she felt the most soothing, calming, healing, undeniably pleasuring feeling in her shoulders. She almost gasped in surprise.

He was rubbing her shoulders utterly _perfectly_, and all the pain that had previously been there seemed to melt away with each flawless caress to the junction where her neck met her shoulder.

She had to bite her lip to keep from moaning in satisfaction as all the kinks and knots in her shoulder were smoothed away; healed by Malfoy's hands. _'This is better than any massage I've received at a spa,' _Hermione mused, a half-smile finding its way onto her face.

Then, as instantaneously as it had come, it was over. Hermione frowned slightly; she had been beginning to enjoy it.

"Better?" he asked with a smirk. Hermione didn't see the smirk, but she knew it was there – she could always tell the sound of an amused smirk in his velvety voice.

Hermione was not one to lie, but in this case she was not one to tell the truth, either. So she simply crossed her arms, not bothering to look back at him, and merely grumbled. It was completely unintelligible, even to her. Apparently mumblings of "grmblgahrblgrr" had replaced what would have been an argument. Malfoy laughed.

Now thoroughly embarrassed, Hermione simply stood there, blushing hotly, glaring down at the water below her as if it were indeed Draco Malfoy himself.

Then, true to form, Draco Malfoy himself appeared there in the reflection of the water, standing right behind Hermione, his chin over her shoulder. She had been so wrapped up in her embarrassment that she saw him in the water before she actually knew he was coming, and the shock of this made her jump slightly before she toppled backwards into the water.

Well, she thought it would be the water anyway. But alas, no…Fate had other plans. She had toppled back into Draco Malfoy, who promptly caught her with his arms around her waist.

"_Let-go-of-me-let-go-of-me-let-go-of-me-LET GO OF ME," _Hermione snarled, struggling with his grip on her. However, he kept a tight hold, chuckling mercilessly into her ear.

"You like it," Draco teased, his eyes sparkling with a glimmer of mischief, earning a blatant "UGH" from Hermione.

"What else do you like, I wonder..?" Draco asked in a whisper, running his fingers along her waistline in feather-light touches.

Resisting the urge to shudder, Hermione growled out "Books, coffee, and oh, let's see – NOT YOU. Now let go of me."

"Not me? Oh, I find that hard to believe…" he responded, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on Hermione's belly. The muscles there clenched, and he chuckled in satisfaction.

"What stupid _fucking _reason would you have to believe that **I **would like **YOU**?!" Hermione demanded, continuing with her struggles once more.

"A little birdy told me," Draco mused.

"Does Birdy have a name?" Hermione asked suspiciously, her wriggling and struggling against his hold stopping momentarily. He just laughed.

His laugh – it was as smooth and silky as the rest of him; effortlessly graceful with a charming sort of air.

Not that it charmed Hermione. Oh no, it didn't. No, it most definitely, most certainly did _NOT._

…Well, okay, maybe a little.

Draco never actually answered her question as the seconds passed; rather, he simply contented himself with delivering soft touches to her torso. His left hand traced around her belly-button, whereas the right was quite unashamedly running along the underside of a breast.

When he hit that particular spot, Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't…touch…me…"

"You like it," he repeated, whispering the words playfully in her ear. When she shuddered, Draco took it as an invitation to lightly graze her earlobe with his teeth, stopping the shuddering instantly and effectively.

"Don't do that!" Hermione reprimanded, her struggles beginning again. Draco didn't let go. Rather the contrary, actually; his hand slipped from her breast, down her ribcage, down her belly, going slowly down to her…

….

Instantly, Hermione had elbowed him _extremely _hard in the ribs, and taken his moment's distraction as an exit route. She got out of the tub as quickly as she could (hoping to hell he wasn't watching), grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, and exited the baths as quickly as her legs would allow her, her long, brown hair trailing behind.

Draco chuckled – the seduction of Hermione Granger had begun.


End file.
